Water

In the land of the sleeping...

I am on vacation in the Caribbean. A guided tour leads a group of twenty through the sallow waters around monolithic rock formations. Trees and grasses grow atop these tiny islands or mammoth boulders. Sometimes the rocks are split apart near the base that create small tunnels. Well light by torches it is easy to navigate the caves. A stranger with red lips and a short red dress is my constant companion. My mother drifts in and out of proximity with a tidal periodicity. When my mother is away, my love in red steals kisses from me, when near we are content to hold hands. We explore many tunnels. Their sandy beds yield like a field of marshmallows. The hot white peaking through the thick green grass, and a sharp blue sky with a sun too bright to look at is our new stage. Blue, yellow, green, and white hills and horizon the only colors visible. I step on a shell and start bleeding, the sudden red destroys the image. I look left and more red makes me smile. We kiss and the image is forgotten. I wonder if the weather will keep up. It's a hot day and an occasional lazy cloud keeps the sun from becoming unbearable. The smell completes the scene and puts one at ease. The salt, surf, and foliage mingle and dilute each other making the usually overbearing sea seem mellow. My taciturn companion and I walk hand in hand out of a tunnel into the blinding sun. In the distance my mother waves at us, or is it a tree blowing the stiff wind? We kiss anyway.